


Hear

by FreckledSkittles



Series: The Five Senses [3]
Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), ADA Carisi, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Case Fic, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, M/M, Reverse Cowgirl, Rimming, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, or should we say, reverse cowboy, thats right they do it, the barisi nation deserves it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:00:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23282182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreckledSkittles/pseuds/FreckledSkittles
Summary: “I wanna work together on this case. If Cutter thinks it’s time we lift our embargo, I wanna try it.”“Do you.”
Relationships: Rafael Barba/Dominick "Sonny" Carisi Jr.
Series: The Five Senses [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1632616
Comments: 6
Kudos: 45





	Hear

**Author's Note:**

> Not only is this the halfway point for the series, but it's my 69th fic overall: N I C E  
> To celebrate, I added some nice ~smut~ and, of course, 69
> 
> This took way longer than I wanted, but I'm happy it's here and I can finally get to working and posting other fics. I have about three tabs open and all but two are Barisi-related, so you know we're really living in this quarantine
> 
> Thanks to soul_writerr for, as always, her support during me writing this and for yelling each time I updated it in the doc. And thanks to Perpetual Motion for the wonderful beta and for yelling about MIKE

The case is simple. A situation of acquaintance rape in a nightclub with thorough work via booze to cloud her memory overthrown by the conversation the night after that became a confession. Wendy, their victim, had been scared about proceeding, but with help from Lieutenant Benson and Sergeant Dodds, her confidence was able to rise. She had come thirty minutes early to the first meeting Sonny had with her. She had grown past her initial hesitance about pressing charges that stemmed from her relationship with her attacker, and she even suggested a few tactics—legally, of course—that would show the jury who the defendant was. Wendy had done phenomenally so far.

The problem is not with the case itself; Sonny knows he can win it with a few hiccups at most. The issue comes in the form of Rafael Barba, who had wormed his way into the case files when Sonny asked the DA for someone to give an extra opinion and help him before the trial started. It’s been a few months since he was hired, making this his fourth case going to trial, but just like the ones before, he wants to be prepared for every scenario. Even though Sonny is the head prosecutor, Barba has taken control from him at every turn, almost like he’s working it by himself. Sonny is close to snapping because of it.

“How close would you say your relationship with Dean Sanderson was?” Barba asks Wendy, who has sat in his office for a good hour reviewing her testimony and the events of that night. Sonny has been bouncing between fuming rage and absolute exhaustion throughout the whole ordeal. Neither Barba nor Wendy has given it much thought, at the very least, but he doesn’t want to push his luck.

“We were in the same discussion class for a history course last semester,” she answers. Her back is straight, and she sits with her hands folded in her lap, ever the image of poise. The slight tremor at the end of her voice and the tight grip she holds around her knee reveals a bit more vulnerability, but it’s as low as it’s been the entire afternoon. “We would study for quizzes in the university library and grab some dinner or coffee when we were done. We kept in contact through texts over the summer break.”

“Did you want the relationship to extend to something more intimate?”

“No. It was clear we were only friends. He had a girlfriend when we met. I never felt anything but friendship for him.”

Barba paces around his desk, fiddling with his sleeves and rolling them up. “We can work on the wording later, but if your theory is correct, that should be enough to upset him.”

“Are you sure, Counselor?” Sonny speaks up, finally looking up from his papers. “The defense might see it as us trying to provoke their client.”

“Not if we word it correctly. Check your notes,” Barba taps on the legal pad in front of him, “the breakup was nasty. Just the mention of his girlfriend should be enough.” He turns back to Wendy and resumes their rehearsal. “So you had no desire to have anything intimate happen between you?”

“I did not.”

Barba nods and pauses, takes two steps, thrusts his hands in his pockets. His suspenders frame his chest perfectly, aligned with the graph check on his button-down. “According to your testimony today and the one you gave the grand jury, he attacked you in September, but you didn’t report it until November. Why’s that?”

“I didn’t know I had been raped until I had missed my period and found out I was pregnant.”

“At which point, we’ll present the DNA results from the fetus confirming it was Dean’s,” Sonny says, gesturing with said papers. “And we’ll bring up the texts he sent you about having an abortion. Now, for your testimony over what happened, have you remembered anything from that night?”

Wendy falters a bit, her head bowed in silent reprieve. “Not really. Just him dragging me into the bathroom and looking down at me. Same as before.”

“How’d you know it was him?” Barba jumps in, right before Sonny can open his mouth again. The anger flares.

“His eyebrow piercing and the text he sent our friend Cassie.”

“Good. You’re doing good.” Barba offers a smile, short and sweet, but Wendy stays tense, still looking at her shoes. Barba steps back and clears his throat. “How about we pick this up tomorrow? We can discuss the greater details then.”

Wendy’s head shoots up and she practically hops out of the chair. “I can continue—”

Barba is surprisingly gentle when he offers another smile, this one smaller than the last. “It’s getting late. You said you had homework, too, correct?”

There isn’t much for Wendy to contest, especially with Barba presenting the argument, so she nods gratefully and packs her things. They agree on the same time and place to meet, and Wendy thanks them both thoroughly before she leaves. Sonny feels just as useless to his case as he did when they started.

“That was quite a session,” Barba sighs as he puts their copies of the evidence back in its box and cleans up the small conference table they had been using. Sonny only hums and nods in response. He doesn’t trust himself to not say anything crude or to keep calm when he opens his mouth. Unfortunately, Barba—who loves to get on his ass for not taking a hint—either doesn’t see it or chooses to ignore it. “What, no smarmy comments about my methods? No legal insight from Fordham’s brightest?”

Sonny focuses his energy on putting his belongings back into his briefcase neatly and quickly. The faster he can get out of there, the better. “Not today.”

Barba doesn’t buy it; Sonny can read it all over his face. Unfortunately, Barba has no idea how to keep his mouth closed, abandoning the papers in front of him to step closer and tilt his head. “Are you sick? You’ve been acting odd all day. Normally, I wouldn’t pay attention to it, but seeing as we have a case to win—”

“Technically, it’s my case,” Sonny cuts in, still looking down and still trying to hold back the boiling waves of anger in him, “so it’s mine to win. But thanks for the concern.” This is neither the time nor the place for this discussion, he knows this. If he can avoid exploding on Barba or revealing the real reason he’s upset, he will.

For a moment, Sonny thinks he actually heard him and is no longer pushing it. He’s able to pack away the rest of his belongings and shut his briefcase with that mindset. Barba speaks up again when he goes for his coat. “Hm. So you’re upset over stolen territory.” Sonny remains silent; Barba keeps going. “You know, if you didn’t want help, the best way to let people know is by not asking for it in the first place.”

“Is that what you call this?” Sonny snaps. He isn’t quite at his breaking point, but they’re inching closer. “A week of you leading debriefings, talking over me, and basically robbing me of a case I was given on my own?”

Barba takes a small step back, a look of shock briefly flashing over his face. Sonny doesn’t know where it came from. “You went to Cutter asking for co-counsel. You were the one who wanted help!”

“I wanted a second opinion, but I didn’t want you to take my case from me!”

Barba, frowning, takes a deep breath and nods. “Fine. I get the message. I’ll step back.”

Sonny tries to hold his tongue, he genuinely does, but he’s fuming with anger, frothing with it and wanting a fight. It has been months of nonstop bickering and battling for the attention of the Bureau Chief and to see who can make the other go feral first. He knows nothing will be done if he doesn’t speak up now. “No, you don’t get it, because tomorrow you’ll have something else to say, and you’ll find some other way to insult me, and I’m honestly so sick of that routine. Has anyone ever called you out on your attitude before? Or did you just tune them out?”

Barba can barely open his mouth, eyes wide and back rigid. “I…Carisi—”

“No, you don’t get to speak right now. You haven’t shut up since we started.” Sonny stands to his full height and plants his hands on his hips to stop himself from waving his arms around. “From the very moment I met you, all you’ve done is piss on any suggestion I had. And it has to be personal, because I’ve annoyed everyone else here and they haven’t treated me as badly as you have.” Carisi’s eyes narrow. “I get it, alright, I can be annoying. I rub people the wrong way. However you wanna word it. But for whatever reason,” his hands break away from his hips and clasp together, pointing at Barba, “for whatever I’ve done, you have gone out of your way to make my job miserable. And honestly, I didn’t care that much at first, because I could work past it. But this,” he gestures to the office, pristine and clean and silent, “you stealing my case and preventing me from doing my job? That’s the last straw.”

“It wasn’t intentional,” Barba finally snaps back. Sonny rolls his eyes at that. “I was told you needed the help and told to provide support in whatever way I could. I took it to mean you needed someone to co-counsel with. I didn’t know you were only looking for a second opinion.”

“That’s rich, coming from you. From the second I debriefed you on this, you were in control of my case. Just admit that you stole it from me.”

Barba, glowering and sizzling in place, only seethes between his teeth. “I wasn’t stealing anything from you.”

Sonny grabs his coat jacket with a flourish and huffs. “Fine. You want me to let Cutter know you’re joining me as co-counsel, or do you want the honors?”

“Honors of what?” Barba steps forward and stops him from putting on his jacket by holding the sleeve Sonny hasn’t stuck his arm through yet. “First of all, you don’t have to put me down as anything—”

“You’ve done most of my work for me already. Why wouldn’t I?”

“And second, I wasn’t  _ trying _ to take  _ anything _ from you! Am I talking to a child or a coworker?”

“I dunno,” Sonny tugs on his jacket and adjusts it over his shoulders, meeting Barba’s glare with one of his own, “I think you made that decision for me.”

They don’t speak throughout the entire trial. Barba handles Wendy’s testimony and the eventual cross-examination when Dean, fueled by his anger at his breakup, takes the stand and incriminates himself immediately. He paid too much money for a defense attorney who would be a better stunt double for Johnny Cochran than an actual attorney. Sonny deals with the rest of the case: the witnesses, evidence, the opening statement, and summation. And after the guilty verdict is revealed, they share one nod of acknowledgment and go their separate ways. Sonny asks Cutter to never pair them together again, even if they were the last two in the office, at least for now. Maybe, when they aren’t as hostile or they’re more familiar with how the other works, they can try again.

Or maybe, four months later, that’s what the sex is for.

* * *

The first time he had seen Dominick “Sonny” Carisi, Jr. naked, fully nude and spread out on his bed, Rafael just stopped himself from begging him to blow him before he entered him. The stretching was quick, the leftover burn was pleasant, and Carisi had worked them both into panting messes when they were finished, breathing hot against Rafael’s ear and stuffing his face further into his neck. Rafael left after he took a shower and made sure Carisi was okay and not suffering from any headaches or pain from the fall. It felt strange to fuck and leave on the same day his work colleague had passed out during a date, but Carisi was well enough to pin him against the mattress and thrust until the room echoed with their euphoric moans and wrecked cries.

Rafael thought it would be one time. He was hoping it would be a one night (afternoon?) stand. And then they met again.

The second time, it was in Rafael’s apartment, and they didn’t make it to the bedroom. Rafael simply threw Carisi against the front door, pulled down his pants and choked on his cock until he came, thrusting into the wet heat of his mouth. Just hearing the sounds he can make—lewd and wet and soaked with lust—and listening to the scratch of Carisi’s nails against the door was enough for him. Rafael barely had a chance to reassure him that no, he didn’t need the favor to be repaid, but Carisi was grabbing his dick and tugging before he could even think of something else to say.

Each time, Rafael hoped it would be the last. And each time, they both asked for one more.

* * *

Rafael lets out a long moan around the dick in his mouth when Carisi’s tongue, quick and confident, passes through his hole and laps at his walls. He should have known that Carisi had better use of his mouth besides speaking. Someone who talked as much as he did, in the same brash accent, using the same rhythmic pattern of speech, would be highly skilled at oral sex. And that’s without considering how noisy he can be. Of the men Rafael has taken to bed, whether it be one night stands or actual relationships, Carisi is definitely the most vocal. The way his voice carries around the room, bouncing from ceiling to floor, makes it sound ten times louder than it is. Or maybe he’s simply hearing what he wants to hear, which is a man Rafael has deeply, thoroughly, completely ruined over a month and a half, garnered from a mixture of Carisi’s requests and Rafael’s urges.

Thankfully, Rafael’s mouth is full when Carisi sucks and digs his tongue against him, prodding down with pointed intentions. He can muffle his wrecked cry into the dick that throbs on his tongue and jolts with every exhale he makes over it. He gave up on trying to stop Carisi from hearing it two weeks ago, a month after they had started seeing each other like this. It’s better for both of them if he stops pretending he didn’t make the sound in the first place.

And the dirty talk. God, Carisi’s mouth is filthy.

“Your ass tastes nice,” Carisi breathes out. “Better than usual.” Rafael pulls back for a breath of air right when Carisi bites his left cheek, and he keens without anything to stifle it against. The dick inches from his mouth gleams with spit, a single strand of precum dribbling from the tip. “Mm. You do anything special with it?”

Rafael holds back an amused snort and shakes his head. “No.” He sounds breathy and desperate for more, just a single touch, anywhere and everywhere. It takes every inch of his body to hold back on begging to finally sit in Carisi’s lap, stretched around his dick and pounding on it so hard, he can feel it in his throat.

“Hmm.” Carisi licks between his cheeks; Rafael shoves the long dick back into his mouth and nearly chokes on it when he sucks at his entrance. “I’m not convinced.”

Rafael pulls back—as horny as he may be, he isn’t going to gurgle on him—and digs his hands into Carisi’s calves. The pressure builds in his stomach, his cock hanging between his thighs and wailing for release, but he knows it would be much better for both of them if he waited. He can hold on a bit longer, even if the filth that pours from Carisi’s mouth, verbally or not, is doing everything it can to try and prevent that from happening.

Carisi uses one hand to steady Rafael’s hips and the other to spread his ass cheeks apart and lap at it with his tongue. The firm press of his tongue acts as a constant wave; the tip of his finger pushes through to stretch him a bit more than it already has, to nudge its way through and prod and poke, disguising Carisi’s provocation. Rafael, unable to stop himself and unwilling to try, clenches around his finger and chomps down on his lip in an attempt to stop the moan that leaks out when Carisi drags his tongue out. “You’re extra tight today. Maybe that’s why.”

“Mhm.” Rafael presses his forehead against Carisi’s thigh, panting hot air over Carisi’s dick and watching it twitch from the sensitivity.

“It’s only been a week. I think you need to destress some more, Counselor.” Carisi’s smile is loud, hanging onto each word and growing in time with his persistent fingering. “It’s not good for your body.”

Rafael shoots him a glare by peering underneath him. “You weren’t complaining two nights ago.”

“Two nights ago, you threw me over your kitchen counter because you were pissed at SVU.”

“And you didn’t raise any complaints.”

Carisi laughs, the sound expanding a fluttering sensation in Rafael’s chest. “I guess I was distracted.” He sucks one last time, swirls his tongue around and against his ass, and then he pulls back. Rafael, predicting the move, sits up on his elbows and grabs the condom off the bed. He pretends not to think about Carisi chuckling behind him, Carisi massaging his ass slowly and gently, Carisi curling his toes in anticipation like he always does when he’s excited during sex. If he even tries to, he’ll only distract himself from piercing himself on Carisi’s dick, which should be the one thing he focuses on.

Rafael tears the condom wrapper open, slides it onto Carisi, and lubes his cock quick and tight. The flick of Carisi’s hips when he drags his fingers up to the glans is not lost on him. If anything, it’s reassuring to see the other man is just as impatient and thirsty for him. Rafael, satisfied with the thorough slicking and inching closer to the edge of euphoria, straightens up and positions himself over the twitching cock, facing the pair of long legs that twist in the sheets when Rafael knocks his knees against his thighs.

Carisi had been against the positions that limited their eye contact—“seriously, you can’t look at me even once?”—as the only positions they would do until Rafael gave him a good show of his ass, how plump his cheeks were, how fast his thighs could move him off and on his cock, how wide he could stretch when he surged in just a few inches more and brushed right over his prostate, bent over his back. After a show like that, Carisi was more than happy for one of them to bend over and bare his ass or ride him until his thighs quaked. The shine of his eyes and the approving cries of encouragement that poured from his lips was more than proof.

With a hand grabbing the base, knocking against Carisi’s that joins him, Rafael seats himself on Carisi, taking his cock to the fullest extent. Rafael lets out a long breath and throws his head back while he adjusts, his eyes fluttering shut at the pressure pressing against his walls and throbbing inside him. After a month and a half of sex, he still isn’t used to how large Carisi’s dick is, both in width and in length. 

“Fuck,” Carisi breathes out, his hands scrambling against his hips and squeezing. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Rafael moans when the cock inside him shifts up and stretches him wider, pushes further, inches deeper. “Barba, you—fuck!”

Rafael chuckles under his breath and grabs his knees to steady himself—and to stop himself from clenching and hopping in Carisi’s lap. “Good to hear that,” he pauses, takes a breath, wets his lips, “that you’re enjoying yourself.”

“You’re so tight.” He grips his hips and pulls, digging into the flesh of his sides. Rafael chokes on a groan, more as a reflex than an attempt to hide the sound, but if Carisi hears it, he doesn’t bring it up. “Holy shit. Like, I was just talking shit before, but…” Rafael laughs quietly when Carisi lets out a wavering breath and shudders again. He opens his mouth to respond but Carisi chooses that moment to move his hips, just once, in a thrusting motion. The moans that both of them release, mingled with the cries that Rafael doesn’t even try to hold in, clog the room with coiled tension.

“I’m not seeing anyone but you,” Rafael gasps. “I don’t know if you noticed, but I don’t have a line of suitors waiting out the door to take your place once we’re done.”

Carisi pinches his hips for the snarky remark and settles back down under Rafael. Although he can’t see his face, Rafael can feel his impatient stare boring into his back, the silent plea to do  _ something _ or else this will end much earlier than either of them planned. If his thoughts were loud enough to be heard, the air in the room would be filled with something more than their breathing and the occasional grunt as they adjust to each other or the euphoric lilt of their voices. For now, Rafael likes feeling the soft nudge against his walls and the pressure of Carisi’s dick that punctures his core.

Rafael lifts his hips, an experiment to see how well he’s adjusted but a gesture he hopes is teasing. When he sits down in Carisi’s lap again, his ass flush against his skin once more, he makes his enjoyment loud and clear by tossing his head back and letting out a rolling groan that echoes in the room. It isn’t hard to do—there’s something especially enticing about Carisi when it involves sitting on his cock.

“Looks like I don’t have to ask if you’re enjoying yourself, huh?” Carisi asks, a tint of amusement in his voice as he runs a hand lazily up Rafael’s side.

“You’re going to anyway,” Rafael hums.

“I don’t wanna hurt you. You feel alright? It’s not too much for you?”

“Not at all.” To prove his point, Rafael clenches around his dick. He chuckles at the muffled thump of Carisi tossing his head back onto the pillow that has been tucked under his head since they started. “It’s quite comfortable.”

Carisi makes what sounds like an affirming “sure” that gets swallowed by a hollow grunt. “So I can move?”

Rafael hums and swivels his hips, purposely letting Carisi’s hands slip free from his skin. The fingers that dig into him, the palms that skid over his sides—it flares with heat and a yell for more, to never stop, to always have something like this to come home to. If there was ever a place worth calling “home.”

It’s unclear who sets the brutal pace of Rafael sliding off Carisi’s dick with minimal effort and Carisi dragging Rafael up and down vigorously. Whether it’s the hands latched around his middle or the fingers settled in a tight clutch around his knees, either one could be the answer. What is clear is that Rafael’s throat goes hoarse quickly from the carnal sounds he lets out and his palms burn from the vice grip he holds around Carisi’s knees while he hops and glides and sinks around his cock. His whole body flares like he’s been tossed into a volcano, swarmed by lava and crumbling rocks unable to support his weight from the severe heat that has weakened them.

Rafael curves his back and groans, not caring for the volume or the embarrassment it will surely cause later. His mind swims with searing trails of Carisi, consumed by the dinner he made and the stories he told, reminded of the banter he grabbed when Rafael tossed words at him and the force he conjured to toss them right back, distracted by his sounds and his smell and the tight curl of emotions weighing in his chest.

Rafael refuses to address them or even acknowledge them. He doesn’t know what he’ll find over there: what he doesn’t want is probably waiting for the second the latch of the metaphorical chest is released; what he does want is something he hasn’t accepted yet.

So Rafael lets himself ride out on the sensation of his dick, surrounded by the tension between them but not letting it get close enough to release the feelings for this bright and promising man who he should consider a rival, a nuisance, a colleague he is thankful is on their side. Sonny Carisi fills all five of his senses: he sits on the back of his tongue, hovers under his fingers, wafts over his nose, weaves through his ears, swarms in front of his eyes. It would be overwhelming if Rafael dwelled on it for a mere second. But he can’t.

So he rides it out in hopes that his thoughts aren’t loud enough to be heard.

* * *

“As much as I would love to play babysitter, I think it’d be better if you gave me the case,” Rafael states. He and Carisi had chased after Bureau Chief Cutter when, during their monthly meeting, he had handed out the cases everyone was getting after a fellow ADA went on sabbatical. Unfortunately, the largest one—the same one that had been suggested for two people to tackle, as the initial prosecutor had planned—was given to Rafael and Carisi. As soon as the meeting had ended, Cutter was leaving before the words of dismissal left his mouth, and Rafael and Carisi chased after him, meeting his stride thanks to Rafael’s fast pace and Carisi’s long legs, respectively.

Carisi scoffs and rolls his eyes. “You say that like you’re the only one trapped here,” he sneers. “I’ve taken plenty of cases without a guardian angel lurking over my shoulders. I should have as much of an opportunity to take the case myself as he does.”

Rafael barks out a laugh. “Guardian angel! How kind of you, Carisi, I didn’t know you thought so highly of me.”

“Please,” Carisi shoots him a glower, “don’t flatter yourself, Counselor. The only reason you’re supposedly babysitting me is to tame your enlarged ego.”

“Alright, that’s enough,” Cutter says, stepping physically between them before Rafael can retort back. “Tillson recommended that the Lopez case go to two ADAs because of the amount of work that’s gone into it. He was going to ask someone to co-counsel with him before he left. I wouldn’t have chosen you two if you had gotten over whatever rift is between you.” The elevator arrives, but Cutter stops both of them from joining him inside, holding his briefcase between them and glowering at them. “I can’t have two ADAs who are unwilling to work together if their egos are going to get in the way of them working out their differences. Get over it, or I’ll find more competent prosecutors to take your cases.” The elevator doors close, and Cutter is gone, leaving the two of them staring at their metallic reflections.

Rafael looks Carisi up and down. It’s been two weeks since they last met up for sex, more of his own volition than failed attempts to find the time to meet. Ever since he rode Carisi dry and showed off the curve of his back and the plush of his ass, Rafael had difficulty looking at the other man without wondering why his heart was throbbing in his chest or why every word he tried to form slipped back down his throat when he tried to pronounce it. There was no explaining, or justifying, or even understanding why Carisi was turning him into a fool.

“Well,” Rafael huffs, already pulling out his phone, “that was pleasant.”

Carisi lets out a long sigh, eyeing the elevator as the floor numbers tick closer to one. “I guess so. You’d think he planned this.”

“What, him walking to the elevator and leaving us here to ponder on the mess he knows he left behind?”

He smirks and shoots him a look from the corner of his eye. “Took the words out of my mouth.”

“You can have them back. I can make my own arguments.”

“Yeah, you made that clear.”

Rafael looks up from the email he’s drafting—if Cutter isn’t going to hear them out, maybe he can get to him in writing—and nearly blurts out the curiosity whirring inside him. Carisi looks resigned, not so much forlorn but certainly pondering on what has to be Cutter’s words. Rafael can practically hear the gears spinning in his head. “Licking your wounds, Counselor?”

Carisi blinks owlishly at him with a start. “What?”

“You sound hurt. Did Cutter offend you that much?”

“No, it’s not that. I…” Carisi sighs, runs a hand through his hair, watches the numbers stop on one. “I dunno. I thought we were doing a good job. Y’know, with the disagreeing.”

“We were. Cutter seems to think we don’t because you asked that we don’t co-counsel together.”

“Do you agree with that?” Carisi holds up his hands when Rafael glances up at him, one brow raised and his fingers halting in their frantic typing across his phone screen. “Look, my parents say that the reason why they’ve stayed together without a lot of problems over the years is because when one of them senses a problem, the other helps them address it and they talk through it. So if Cutter sees that we’re creating a problem by refusing to work with each other, maybe it’s worth considering.”

Rafael rolls his eyes. “That sounds a bit paranoid, don’t you think? This isn’t a marriage issue.”

“When was the Sanderson trial, four months ago? Maybe it interfered with other cases.”

“He has plenty of other ADAs to choose from. And there’s no requirement that makes us, or anyone, work together every time a big case comes around.” He raises a hand to stop Carisi from continuing with whatever response is forming on his lips. It’d be much easier if he were handling this alone without an answer for everything he says. “Let me handle this, Carisi. I’ll get this sorted out.”

“Why,” Carisi frowns, “so you can have the case all to yourself?”

“So I can smooth this out and give us both some peace of mind without your input every five seconds.”

“I’m in this too. You can’t box me out of a decision that includes me. I should be allowed to choose for myself.”

Rafael wants to scream. He is convinced that Cutter is simply testing them to see whether or not they’ve worked out their differences. There’s no way anything they’ve done could warrant blatant blackmail like this. They were careful, they were thorough, and there is no way he or anyone could tell that they weren’t working together because of an open and abandoned rift between them. “Fine. What do you want, then, Counselor? If I convince Cutter to break us up, I’m not giving you the case.”

Carisi’s expression switches from pure exhaustion to a sort of dark mischief in mere seconds. His eyes brighten for a brief second—barely even noticeable if it weren’t for the little head tilt he gives. He straightens up with a roll of his shoulders and clears his throat. “I was gonna suggest talking about what Cutter might have seen to make this decision. But if you wanna be petty, I can too.” He steps forward, not towering over him but close enough that his cologne wafts under Rafael’s nose. It’s thick and homey, almost welcoming and making him miss Carisi’s declaration. “I wanna work together on this case. If Cutter thinks it’s time we lift our embargo, I wanna try it.”

Rafael swallows a frustrated yell. “Do you.”

“Yeah, why not? I think we can learn a thing or two about each other.”

As if they haven’t already. As if they haven’t spent a good month and a half getting to know each other’s bodies, hearing the litany of moans and the wave of exclamations pour from each other with every flick of a tongue or press of a pair of lips, just for their ears to hear. As if they haven’t explored each other’s apartment in multiple states of undress, desperate for an orgasm and always leaving when it was achieved without so much as a question behind them.

Maybe Carisi is tired of it. Rafael took a self-imposed two-week-and-counting break to get his head on straight; it might have helped Carisi too. Or maybe he realized how incredibly risky it is to fuck his coworker on a semi-regular basis. Or maybe, right now, he’s using the case to shadow the real issue: Rafael Barba might like Sonny Carisi more than he already lets on. If he can stand him enough to show his naked body, then surely there’s a possibility for something more.

The point is: Rafael doesn’t need them exploring anything else. Not until he understands why he keeps on looking at Carisi’s legs or his lips or his hands and wondering what it would take to get them on him. 

Rafael looks away and focuses on jabbing the elevator button a bit too harshly and nearly bending his thumb against it. He’s already drafting his resignation letter in his head. “Fine. Let’s try this out, for this one case. If it means that much to you, I won’t send my email just yet.”

Carisi nods, a coy smile flicking up for no more than two seconds. “Good. It was my idea to stop working together in the first place, so it’s only fitting I get us back.”

“Please, I didn’t do it because you got there first.”

“You can tell yourself that, Counselor. Whatever gets you to sleep at night.”

“Justice for the victim, however many there are.”

The elevator doors open again and Carisi’s smile turns sly as they step through. “So now you care about the victims? They didn’t cross your radar when you were trying to take the case from me?”

Rafael glowers at him, not taking the bait for once and nodding to the panel in front of him. “Just press the button, Counselor.”

* * *

Two days later, Rafael and Carisi end up meeting with Manhattan SVU for a debriefing on the case as a whole and the new information their investigation has brought up. Rafael enjoys working with the squad, even if they can cause trouble as often as they can bring about justice. It’s part of their brand at this point, and any newcomers either fit the profile or adapt to it over time. He’d watched it unfold with Sergeant Dodds and it would likely happen to Detective Tamin, even if his intuition told him that she was having no problem fitting in with the other detectives, especially her boss.

When they arrive in the squad room, Olivia is waiting by the desk sergeant with two coffees and a bag of pretzels. She smiles when she sees them walk off the elevator and hands them their respected drinks and, for Rafael, the snack that he requested. Apparently, this case has been tough on the squad and has required nearly everyone in the precinct to prepare the case for trial. Rafael only had access to what was in Tillman’s notes and the papers filed from the case in the first place, and with the added addition of Olivia’s own shorthand, he was easily overwhelmed with the mess that had formed.

“Thanks for coming in on such short notice,” Olivia says, walking them to her office. Mike Dodds perks up from whatever work he was doing at his desk and stands, joining them in Olivia’s office and shutting the door behind him. A whiteboard stands perpendicular to the desk, right in front of the door and the one-way mirror of their interrogation room. “We can only imagine how difficult it’s been to get a debriefing so soon after getting the case, but if you read Tillman’s papers, then you might have an idea of what we’ve had to deal with.”

“We did,” Rafael confirms, looking over at Carisi when he nods in tandem. “As much as we could, at least. And judging by your own notes that you sent, it’s been this way from the beginning.”

Olivia nods and waves a hand at Dodds, who nods to both of them and stands beside the whiteboard, hands folded in front of him. “That’s why Sergeant Dodds is here. Out of everyone in this precinct, his account has been the most accurate.”

“Good on you,” Carisi smirks. Dodds returns the expression. “It took me a few hours to properly map this out.”

“Hopefully, I can fix that,” he states. He points to the whiteboard, which follows a timeline complete with crime scene photos and headshots. “February 15th, Priscilla Cooper is attacked by a stranger on the street. She’s coming back from a study session at a cafe off Columbia’s campus and is jumped by a man wearing a mask over his eyes and a beanie pulled over his head.” He points to the pictures held up by magnets of two knife wounds and a dark bruise. “Grabs her, scratches her face with a knife, runs away when she yells. She reports it to campus police, they forward it to the local precinct, but it comes to a dead end.”

“Columbia’s on the opposite end of Central Park, so you obviously didn’t get the initial report,” Rafael sighs. “When did you hear something?”

Dodds raises a hand as if to hold him off. “We’re getting there, just stay with me.” He points to the next point on the timeline, a crime scene of a dorm bedroom. “Now, three days later, two of our patrol officers investigate a Berkeley dorm room where a sophomore claims a man with a mask watched her while she slept. He didn’t try anything, but she woke up to a loud bang and saw him run out and down the hall.”

“Did you get anything from that?” Carisi asks. “There should be security cameras by the doors leading to the hall.”

“There was, but he took the emergency exit at the end of the hall and got away.”

“Convenient,” Rafael scoffs. He opens the bag of pretzels and tosses a few into his mouth. “Are these the tamer ones?”

“Technically, yes,” Olivia states. 

“Define ‘technically.’”

“Technically, his attacks alternate,” Dodds clarifies. He goes to the third point on their timeline; “Bonnie Wright, raped at knifepoint in the early hours of February 23rd on her way to class. But Jenna Friedman was stabbed in the kidney and pushed down the stairs of her apartment building. And after her, Kennedy Dean was found on the bathroom floor by her partner when they returned from work. She had been trying to dial 911 when she passed out from the head wound she got from him bashing her head against the headboard.”

“Hold on,” Carisi walks over to the whiteboard and looks at the photos of each woman, both their New York IDs and the ones taken after their cases, “only two of these is a sex crime.”

“Very good, Counselor,” Rafael mumbles under his breath. Olivia glowers at him; Carisi barely flinches.

“Half of these are out of your jurisdiction and the one consistency is the knife.”

“We didn’t collar him until his ninth offense,” Olivia says. She stands to help Mike turn the whiteboard over and show a larger timeline, this one exclusive to sex crimes. Half of the charges, judging by the reports on the board and the notes he had reviewed, will be sexual assault. One of them will be murder, another attempted murder. “We caught him during his tenth.”

Rafael’s blood boils. Cases this big never fail to make him marvel at how terrible people can be. Lucky for him, it only fuels him to prosecute better and to throw scum like that as far into prison as he can.

“Our first report,” Dodds points to the second person on the new timeline, “was with Kennedy Dean. Bonnie Wright didn’t come in until the press hounded Kelli Lorenza, our seventh attack overall, and made her story public.”

“How’d you make a profile?” Carisi asks. The way he stands reminds Rafael of the cop he knows from Carisi’s resume more than a lawyer he’s used to working with, hands in his pockets, back straight, eyes furrowed and wandering the wall of evidence like he’s piecing it together.

Dodds snorts quietly. “With difficulty. This guy’s motive is fueled with misogyny. He doesn’t care about race, sexuality, class—and the more he got away with it, the more brutal he got, the more he experimented with how to hurt others. Especially earlier in his crime spree.”

Rafael lets out a long sigh. The picture of their suspect is pinned below the row of women he’s terrorized. The name “Ned Turner” sits under it. “Sick bastard. He looks like every trust fund baby I went to Harvard with.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Carisi asks.

“It’s motivation to help stalk my prey before I pounce.” Rafael winks at the eyeroll and scoff he earns.

Olivia glances between them but doesn’t comment. “We have about six cases in our jurisdiction that we can prosecute successfully. And you can thank Sergeant Dodds,” she gives a nod to her Sergeant, who bows his head to hide the beginning of a shy smile, “for organizing it all into something we can use.”

Dodds hums. “It was pure luck. Tamin predicted he was going off the pattern after our ninth case when he escalated to murder.”

Rafael snacks on a few more pretzel bites and eyes the board. The story is complicated and long to track, but with a bit of finagling, it can be easy to understand and even easier to prosecute. Luckily, he doesn’t have to reorganize everything in the case, only the pieces he’ll need to make a case against a man who thinks he can keep harming others and get away with it. Rafael is already preparing arguments in his head.

“And lucky for you two,” Olivia smirks at them, “he’s maintained his innocence through this entire process.”

“Of course he has,” Rafael scoffs.

“A guy this bad, you’d think he’d take the credit for it,” Carisi says.

“We thought the same, but,” Olivia shrugs and takes a sip of coffee, “at least we have two competent prosecutors on our side to put him away for good.”

“You’re both taking on the case?” Dodds asks. “I thought you weren’t working together.”

Rafael lets out a long sigh and nods. “Unfortunately, Cutter thinks it would be good if we can get past our disagreements and address whatever problems we may have with one another. And what better way to address it than a complicated case with ten different crimes and five criminal sexual acts?”

Carisi eyes him with a disapproving glare before addressing the two cops in the room. “We’ll be fine. We know what’s at stake here and it won’t interfere with our work.”

“Exactly,” Rafael nods, an idea coming to mind instantly that would put an end to any doubt they had. “In fact,” he steps around the chairs in front of Olivia’s desk to hold out his bag of pretzels to Carisi, “here. A peace offering.”

Both Olivia and Dodds react with chuckles at the offer. Carisi shoots him a wary stare but takes a few pretzels anyway. Rafael’s chest pangs with the cautious nibble he gives the pretzel, his neck burning from the familiar sensation of those teeth exploring his skin for the past month and a half.

Rafael and Carisi finally take their work to the conference table by the TV in the squad room. They filter through their own notes, review crime scene photos and the piles of evidence that have started to accumulate. There isn’t a lot of evidence to prosecute the first two cases, but all but two of the cases that Sex Crimes can charge are strong enough to assure guilty verdicts at their trials. Carisi asks the detectives questions about certain details while Rafael drafts arguments for them. They haven’t talked about how they’re going to dole out their co-counsel responsibilities, but so far, this case is going much better than the last one they worked on five months ago.

Neither of them had set a time for how long they would be staying at SVU, but by the time evening rolls around, the detectives are clocking out or taking their break for dinner. Rafael has refilled their coffees more times than he can count and his eyes sting from switching between his legal pad and the giant monitor on the wall. But at least Carisi looks equally as tired, his frantic writing becoming a long drawl and his accent getting thicker and heavier.

Rafael checks his watch and balks at the time. It’s been five hours since they came in, a bit longer than he would have liked, but they at least made good progress. He knew the case against Ned Turner better than when he came into SVU that afternoon, and although there is still time to prepare for trial, among other duties, he isn’t worried. He and Carisi worked off each other quite well, if the impressed looks from the SVU detectives were anything to go by. Nosy bastards.

Carisi leans back in his chair with a deep sigh and shuts his eyes. “God, I need a nap and two beers,” he mumbles. Rafael simpers quietly at that and continues sorting SVU’s evidence back into a single pile. “Is my brain leaking out of my ears?”

Rafael glances up at him and hums. “No, not yet. Give it a few minutes and it’ll show.” When Carisi’s nose curls up, Rafael only scoffs. “What, was that too gross? It was your suggestion.”

“Technically, it was my metaphor that you turned into a visual.”

“You asked  _ me _ if it was happening. I know you’re a germaphobe, but that was a bit extreme.”

Carisi, fighting a tired smile, opens his eyes and jabs a finger at him. “Hey, I told you that in confidence.”

“And the room full of lawyers that also heard it—what were they, accidental collateral?”

“They were accidental witnesses in case you tried to use it against me despite my wishes.”

Rafael is about to retort with something else, probably a joke about holding court and trying to tell a judge that, but their conversation is interrupted by a cleared throat. Olivia Benson is watching them, equal parts amused by their spectacle and suspicious of the quips they share. Her gaze flits between them as Rafael, face suddenly burning, bows his head and resumes organizing the evidence and Carisi, as scrambled as he is, hops to his feet.

“Hey, Lieutenant,” he greets her. “Heading out for the evening?”

“I am,” she says. “You two should do the same. It’s amazing what a good night’s rest can do.”

“I’ve heard the rumors but it’s been a while since I’ve experienced it myself,” Rafael teases with a smirk. Both Carisi and Olivia chuckle at that; between night school as a full-time detective and leading an elite police squad as an initial foster and eventual legal guardian to a child, they probably can’t remember either.

Olivia frowns at that. “At least promise me you’ll try to eat when you leave. You can’t work if you’re out of energy.”

“I’ll make sure he gets something,” Carisi assures her, and with soft thanks, she leaves the squad room. Rafael doesn’t look up when Carisi returns and slides his vest and jacket on with a deep breath. “Well, Counselor, what say you and I grab something to eat? My treat.”

Rafael shoots him a grim smile, ten different excuses jumping on his tongue. “Thank you, Counselor, but I can pay for my own meals.”

It takes a second for what Carisi actually means to sink in. Not because it comes to him of his own volition or the words jump out and smack him back. But because there’s a sudden yet cautious presence beside him and a pair of long fingers slipping over the pile of folders he had been sorting. Rafael almost misses what he says, his voice is so low, but when the exhaustion of the day vanishes from his tone and is replaced with a tenderness only Rafael is meant to hear, he can only listen with flaring intensity. “I, ah, was actually thinking about something else. That we can do. Together.”

Rafael clears his throat when the presence backs away and it takes all his willpower to not pounce on him now and shove their tongues together. Instead, he channels that feeling into hurrying his cleanup and grabbing his belongings, not even bothering to button his vest or throw his jacket on. Carisi, briefcase in hand and fidgeting with his phone, is already waiting for him to finish tossing the files into his briefcase, and he leads them to the elevator with quick strides when Rafael hurries to his side.

They’re lucky none of the detectives they’re close with have left for the day, either to grab food and refuel or return home and call it a night. But they still have to be careful—they don’t need anything about their relationship getting back to anyone.

“Do you have a place in mind?” Rafael murmurs to him, standing a bit too close to Carisi’s side. He can smell his cologne, can hear his soft breaths, maybe his rapid heartbeat if his ears were strong enough. Carisi licks his lips and shrugs. Rafael scoffs. “I’m a man of expensive tastes, Counselor, remember that. I thought you had a plan.”

“You can call me ‘Sonny,’ you know,” Carisi points out. “It’s just us.”

“Does it mean that much to you? That I call you Sonny?”

“I mean, I get why you don’t when we’re working, I don’t mind it then, but when it’s just the two of us…” He trails off, blue eyes wandering anywhere but towards him.

Rafael tilts his head at that. The hitched breath that Carisi lets out doesn’t go unnoticed. He really can’t help himself. “You mean when we’re alone?”

The elevator rings and opens for them, and they step inside in near-unison. Rafael jams the button for the ground floor and to get the doors closed quicker; Carisi drops his briefcase and grabs Rafael’s chin so he can kiss him. Rafael moans, partially involuntary with how loud it is but mostly eager that he gets to have this again. His free hand curls around the lapel of Carisi’s jacket and pulls, bringing their lips more harshly together and causing both of them to open their mouths.

Rafael’s head is whirring with too many thoughts—Carisi is pressing against him, long legs and long body, all of it flaring with heat; the elevator moves slowly as if to sense they need as many seconds together as they can find. For as much time as they’ve spent with each other over the past few months, kissing Carisi feels new. Like this is the first time they’ve given in to the drawing force between them. Rafael wants to lick and taste and suck it all in, just take it for himself and forbade anyone else from grabbing hold of Carisi’s attention like this.

Like an intimate partner.

Carisi moves back first; Rafael just sighs and mouths along his jaw, reveling in the soft puffed breath that is released with each touch of his lips. “Sorry,” Carisi gasps, gentle, almost coy. “I just wanted to kiss you before we did anything else.”

Rafael smirks and grabs his chin so he can kiss him again, just mold their lips together and venture out over his mouth. “Mm. This is,” he steals one more peck, and then another, and then another, “way more than a kiss.” When he goes in again, Carisi grabs his hips and falls against the wall of the elevator. Rafael drops his briefcase at their feet so he can grab at the taller man properly, wrap an arm around his neck and pull him close enough to feel the rhythmic beats of his heart.

A moan falls from Carisi’s lips that sounds desperate and yearning, wanting more but unable to voice it. He kisses and nips and explores as much as Rafael gives him; they have to save some for wherever they end up. And at the rate they’re going, they’re better off skipping a meal and feeding their ravenous desire for each other.

The elevator slows beneath them, a sign they need to move off each other or risk getting caught, and Rafael breaks away. He’s already leaning to grab his briefcase when Carisi—Sonny—grabs hold of his shoulder, gentle and cautious. Rafael looks up and crashes into the crystal blue waves of his eyes.

“We need to talk,” he says. His eyes flit to Rafael’s lips before continuing. “About us.”

“Is something wrong?” Rafael asks.

Carisi looks away with a quiet breath; a weight drops in his gut. But there are people entering the elevator, people who have places to go and floors to arrive on, and they scoot past them. The fear that has spiked inside Rafael is only present because he knows what Carisi wants to ask. Unless, for some odd reason, he doesn’t care that Rafael didn’t reach out to him about their sexual endeavors. It’s not a conversation he wants, but he only has so much time to prepare for it.

Outside of the precinct, Carisi hails them a cab to bring them uptown, probably to whatever restaurant he has in mind. Rafael would rather imagine what lies on the menu and not linger on the thoughts in Carisi’s head.

* * *

“Lorenza and Antonia” is an Italian restaurant, because of course it is. It’s a small venue but garners its reputation from catering events in the immediate area, from church events to bar and bat mitzvah like any other New York business. According to the front cover of the menu, its name comes from the owner’s two daughters as an ode to help them grow and succeed whenever and however he was needed. Paired with the delicious pasta, Rafael would consider coming here again if it weren’t for the ramrod posture of the man across from him.

They had maintained a bit of work talk throughout dinner, a small break from what Carisi truly wanted to discuss, but Rafael is thankful for it. As mundane as it is, if it keeps the more severe conversation away, he’ll go on about taxes if he has to. Anything to stop them from addressing the very real feelings that were growing between them.

“How did you discover this place?” Rafael asks. Ever since Carisi finished up his entree, he’s been eating in increments, making sure to spin his fork around the linguini slowly and to not stab the crab too early.

“My sister Bella,” Carisi states. His own fork skirts over his dish, chasing the remnants of the sauce that had covered his chicken parm onto one side of the plate. “Someone at her old Lamaze class recommended it. Says it treats first-time parents really well.”

“Is that so.” Carisi only nods; Rafael stabs a chunk of crab. “That’s not too surprising. According to the mission statement, the owner is no stranger to supporting families.”

Carisi snorts, dropping his fork to the side and leaning on his elbows. Rafael tries not to chew too quickly on his bite of pasta but he wants to stop the words before they come out. “Yeah, I saw that. I was told it would be ‘right up my alley.’ You know how siblings can act.”

“Unfortunately, no. Family relations aren’t exactly a Barba’s specialty.” Before Carisi can respond to that, Rafael continues. “Speaking of your sister, how is she?”

If Carisi has caught how quickly he hops to new topics, he hasn’t said anything. “She’s good. I haven’t been able to see her lately, but she sends me videos and we FaceTime every Sunday.” A bit of light returns to his eyes at the mention of his family. That is always an easy distraction. “Rosalie is learning quickly. The other day, she thought that tilting your head was the funniest thing ever, so my sister and Tommy were doing it and making her giggle.”

Rafael smiles, unable to resist reacting with anything but authenticity to such an innocent story. “That’s cute. Let me know when she discovers nodding.”

Carisi laughs, and it sounds so genuine and unrestrained that Rafael’s heart squeezes from the sight alone. The way the dimple in his right cheek curves deeper than the one on the left, or the way his eyes squint, or the puff of air that makes it sound effortless because he does it every damn day over menial things. Carisi is the type of person who would make the highlight of his day the fact that he got to pet a dog. He would give a stranger his scarf if they admired it. He probably stands when there are empty seats on the subway, even if there are few people around, just in case an elderly person comes along and needs a seat.

Carisi deserves someone to replicate that kindness. To have energy on that sort of level. Whoever he ends up with, Rafael knows they won’t deserve him. No one does.

It takes a second for Rafael to realize Carisi has said something and he completely missed it. He clears his throat and reaches for his glass of water. “Sorry?”

“Can I ask you something?”

Rafael grabs his glass but doesn’t raise it to his lips. He doesn’t trust his own hands from spilling it all over himself to stop this conversation or from shaking at the mere possibility that this could end in any particular way. Good or bad, he feels doomed. “What about?”

Carisi is serious now, all amusement gone, melted from his expression. Not even a reminder of it remains. “I think you might know.”

Rafael shrugs and crosses his arms, fork discarded on the table. “Who says I do? Am I supposed to read your mind? Or should I send it telepathically?”

“Rafael,” Carisi sighs, one hand running over his hair, his name sharp and uncommonly firm, “c’mon. I know you’re just being defensive right now but I really don’t want to say it.” His eyes glance up, and the plea is overwhelming. Carisi has assumed the worst and doesn’t want to hear what Rafael might say. If he were a stronger man, he might break this (whatever it may be) off now and never look back.

Rafael doesn’t answer so Carisi goes on, eyes flickering all over the room at whatever is not Rafael Barba. “Look, I don’t want this to go on because you think you owe me something or because you feel obligated to do something for me. So just…come out with it, alright? Just tell me honestly.”

“So just ask me,” Rafael whispers, breathy and stuck in his throat.

Carisi blinks at him. “Why didn’t we do anything for two weeks? Why did you keep your distance? What did I do that made you not want to see me outside of work like we’ve been doing for a month and a half?”

“You could have said something.”

“I did. I asked if we could do the reverse cowboy thing again. You never got back to me.”

Rafael remembers, suddenly but vividly, Carisi bowing his head on the courthouse steps and asking him when they should meet up again and if they can do it at Carisi’s this time. Rafael hadn’t even looked up from his phone when the question was dropped, probably so wrapped up in his work that it went over his head rather than between his ears. “Carisi—”

“You can call me Sonny.”

Rafael scoffs. “I thought we were trying to be serious.”

Carisi—Sonny barely balks. “Yeah, and I thought you knew by now that your bad attitude isn’t going to scare me away. Just answer my question, please.”

Sighing in defeat, because for all his stubbornness he knows when it’s time to give in, Rafael takes a swig of water in lieu of the liquid courage he would find in a finger of scotch. He hates the words Sonny has lobbed at him; he hates that they’re doing this in public; he hates the dry restaurant they’re in—why have an Italian restaurant if they aren’t going to sell at least wine?—lacks a good scotch for him to try and fill his lungs.

Maybe it’s better that he isn’t comforted by his usual safety nets. That might make the whole process go faster.

“Do you remember when you asked me about alternate universes,” Rafael says, “and the probability of us having one where we meet properly and get off on the right foot?” He waits for Sonny’s confirmation—a confident nod and a soft “yes”—before continuing. “I don’t think there is such a thing as the right universe for us. Not because I don’t believe we can be together, but because the mere suggestion that there’s something better out there for us would suggest that this one isn’t good enough. And…,” he scoffs and shakes his head, “I don’t believe that. Not now, at least. Maybe before, when we first met. But not anymore.”

Sonny nods, his face void of emotions and his expression blank. Whatever he thinks of this, he clearly does not want Rafael to know. “Who would’ve thought that you don’t have to look at someone during sex to have feelings for them.”

Rafael gives a small smirk. “You can say ‘fucking,’ my feelings won’t be hurt.”

Sonny lets out a huff, bowing his head and fidgeting with a napkin. “I would if I didn’t feel, y’know, the same as you. That whatever is going on between us isn’t the same as when we started it.”

“Or when we first met.”

“Eh,” Sonny chuckles, the remnants of his smile from before glowing into place, “I dunno, I think the jury is still out on that one.”

Rafael rolls his eyes, unable to hold back his own amusement for long though and laughing softly under his breath. It’s short-lived, however, when Sonny’s words sink in and the fear seizes his heart. It was always a real possibility that the feelings Rafael had gained for the younger man were reciprocated. But to hear it is an entirely different, and terrifying, situation. “Is there a verdict on what you think about me? And the possibility that in this universe, we still have a chance to…I don’t know, look each other in the eyes and interact without biting each other’s head off?”

Sonny glances up when he resumes speaking but glances away, his cheeks glowing under the lights above them. “I would probably word it differently than that, but…” He trails off, takes a deep breath, and makes eye contact with him. “Yeah. I think there is.”

Rafael licks his lips. Sonny follows the flick of his tongue. “And?”

“I think we haven’t had the chance to do anything but argue and hate each other. And I think I should take the chance now before it’s gone forever.” Sonny reaches his hand out, upturned and waiting. “If you want to join me, I would love to have you.”

Rafael is thankful Sonny didn’t directly answer how he felt about him. Neither of them needs that weight on their shoulders, not when they still don’t know where they stand. Besides, it’s taken them this long to address that  _ something _ was there, and it was an even longer time before they were doing something about it. They didn’t get up to a lot of talking then. (And if they did, it was nothing but absolute filth.)

Rafael takes his hand, entwines their fingers and squeezes—an agreement, when paired up with a small smile, to replace his lack of words. Sonny smiles, wide and unrestrained, and Rafael’s heart gets a little lighter.

**Author's Note:**

> -The plural form for bar/bat mitzvah is b'nai and b'not mitzvah, but I didn't add it because it's not as common as bar and bat  
> -The next fic will be a heavy case fic, featuring trial scenes with our favorite ADA couple! And maaaaybe they're partners in more ways than one ;)


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